


Meeting of Minds

by SophiaHawkins



Category: Chicago Fire, Chicago PD
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaHawkins/pseuds/SophiaHawkins
Summary: Set after "Start Digging". After Justin's murder, somebody from Firehouse 51 comes to pay their respects to Voight.
Kudos: 17





	Meeting of Minds

Meeting of Minds

There was a knock on Hank Voight's front door. It was 10 o' clock at night, and he was not expecting anybody. The knock was persistent but didn't sound like anybody particularly eager to get in. All the same he took no chances. He stalked down the stairs with his shotgun at hand, ready to use it depending on who was on the other side of that door.

The knocking stopped, Voight reached over and flipped the switch for the porch light, there was no audible response from the person outside. He stepped over towards the door, grabbed the edge of the curtain, pulled it back...and about dropped his shotgun. Instead he leaned it against the wall and unlocked the door.

It had been raining off and on all night and was steadily pouring down now, which made the figure on his porch look all the more pathetic.

"Matt."

Lieutenant Matt Casey from Firehouse 51 stood on the porch, bearing some resemblance to a drowned rat and there was a slight chatter of his teeth as he stood there trying not to lead on how cold he was. Instead he stood firm and looked Voight straight in the eyes.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Voight slowly did a double take and blinked. He said nothing but held the door open and gestured with his free hand for Casey to come on in, and he did.

"I hope I didn't disturb everyone," Matt said as he stepped into the hall, a rolled up bag gripped in his hand and resting at his side.

Voight shook his head and closed the door. "Olive walked out with the baby, went to Arizona."

Matt turned around, a shocked expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Hank, I didn't know."

"Yeah, well..." Hank gestured for Matt to follow him into the living room. "What're you doing here?"

"I wanted to tell you..." Casey waited until they got in the next room. "I'm sorry about Justin, Hank...everybody at 51 is."

"I appreciate it," Voight said.

"I didn't know if you wanted any company," Matt held up the bag he'd brought in, set it on the couch and pulled out a six-pack of imported beer, "but I thought you could use a drink."

"Can't hurt," Hank replied.

Matt started to sit down, then seemed to realize for the first time how soaked he was. "Sorry," he said as he took off his jacket.

"How long were you planning to stand out there?" Voight asked.

"I figured you'd answer sooner or later," Casey said as the Intelligence sergeant took his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair to dry out.

"Yeah, lucky you I looked first," Hank commented, knowing Casey wouldn't get it.

Casey took out two beers and opened them, handed one to Voight and took a swig of the other one.

"I don't know what to say, Hank," he told the older man. "Except I'm so sorry for your loss."

"There're never any right words, don't worry about it," Hank replied as he sat down in the chair beside the couch.

* * *

The first couple beers were drunk in a solemn silence, the next two passed in a somewhat more awkward silence. On the last two, Casey decided he had to say something, something that had been weighing heavily on his mind for the past couple days.

"Since we heard the news...I just keep thinking about..." Casey nodded in a knowing gesture, figuring Voight could pick up on what he was trying to say. Justin's arrest, and their initial meeting 5 years earlier.

"Yeah," Voight said.

"I just keep going over it all in my mind," Casey scrunched up his face and ran his hand over his eyes and forehead, "wondering...maybe you were right." He looked to the ceiling for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the sergeant, "There was no way in good faith I could've done what you asked of me...but now I'm starting to wish I _had_ retracted my statement."

"What?" Voight asked. He looked around the room like he was watching for something, and looked back at Casey and asked, "Why the hell would you say that?"

"Because if I would've, that would've been three more years you would've had with him, instead of him being locked up in prison," Casey explained. "If I'd known that this would happen..." he sighed, "you were right, two tragedies shouldn't have had to come out of what happened that night."

"You lost me completely," Voight said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Look," Casey told him, "I know what it was like to have my dad murdered, I know what it was like for my mom to go to prison for most of my life. I know what it was like to lose the baby Gabby was carrying, and I know what it was like to lose Louie..." he shook his head, "but I know none of that can compare to what you're going through...I'm sorry that you lost out on three years with Justin because of me."

Voight leaned forward in his chair in a single ominous motion and pointed a finger at Casey and said to him, "I'm going to tell you something, Casey, and I want you to pay close attention. You got me?"

Matt didn't even move.

"Don't _ever_ talk like that again. You did what you had to do, and it was the right thing, for all sides. I didn't _lose_ Justin when he got locked up. It was hard, but the only way he got his life together was because I couldn't bail him out of that one, he had to stand up and take what he'd done like a man. And when he came out, he still wasn't out of the woods, he got in trouble and was looking at another stint in lockup, and he would've died in there, so instead I put him in the Army, _that_ was where he really turned his life around. Then he came home, he got married, he started a beautiful family...for one brief moment, everything came together for him, and it was only possible because of you, Matt. Because you were willing to tell the truth, no matter what the consequences, even if it meant your life."

"Don't remind me," Casey said with a small smirk.

Voight looked at him and added, "If I'd instilled _those_ kinds of values in him when he was younger, maybe it wouldn't have come to all this...it's not that I didn't try, but I wasn't home enough when he was a teenager, I don't know what all was going on with him, what he had gotten into. All I know is the first time he got in trouble, Camille was so worried for him...you know Erin, don't you?"

Casey nodded.

"She was in a bad place too at that age, my wife was willing to take a chance on her, it wasn't that she was worried about what the neighbors would think if Justin got arrested...she was just worried if he actually went to jail, we'd lose him forever, because then he would be completely out of our reach, our influence, worried that he'd lose his soul entirely, and we'd never be able to get him back. So it was just easier to call in a favor and keep him home, hoping that he would grow out of it, straighten up. But instead he just got in another mess, and another...and another...and then when Camille died, then he really went off the rails...I'd just lost my wife, I wasn't about to let him go to jail and lose him too."

Casey nodded again. "I understand."

"Then I wake up one morning, and my kid has not only screwed up his whole life, he's ruined a 16 year old kid's as well, the whole family's...and while I'm trying to wrap my head around this," Voight pointed a knowing finger at Matt, "then I gotta deal with you."

As somber as the discussion was, Casey found himself letting out a small laugh.

"And man, what a load of trouble you were," Voight said. "Anything that would work on anybody else to convince them to recant their statement... _nothing_ , I start wondering if you're even human, _who is this guy_ that says no to a 43 inch TV, a bag full of money, still stands his ground after a bunch of goons kicking the crap out of him..."

"And the cops raiding my house for cocaine."

"Oh yeah, sorry about that."

Casey leaned back against the couch and laughed.

"And you...I put you through all that hell, and you're here paying respects to _me_...and I tried to have you killed?" Voight asked.

"That _was_ my understanding at the time," Matt replied. "$2,000 to whack me."

"Oh boy, what was wrong with me?" Voight asked with a slight laugh. "Look, Matt, it was hard as hell having Justin locked up, but if you'd actually changed your statement and let him walk, I probably would've lost him a lot sooner. The road he was on, it was just a matter of time before he got himself killed or someone else, and there wouldn't have been a damn thing I could do about it. So...thank you. Thank you for giving me two good years with him that I could be proud of him, actually be a part of his life."

Casey was overwhelmed and didn't know what to say.

"I loved my son, and I _was_ proud of him," Voight continued, "but I have a lot of regrets of things I should've done differently...also for things I wish he'd done differently. I guess part of what made it so hard was I look at you, and I see what he could've been, instead of what he was. I saw you and I saw a man who would die if it meant doing what was right, who didn't give a damn about covering his own ass. I know your history, your dad's murder, your mom going to prison, no excuses, you always did what you had to do and kept a good head on your shoulders. I wish Justin _had_ been more like you. Camille and I lost a girl at birth, but if we would've had a second child that lived, I would've wanted it to be just like you."

Casey especially felt overwhelmed by that, and couldn't think of anything to say except a humbled, "Thanks, Hank."

* * *

Casey woke up and felt disoriented, and also strange. He was warm, bordering on hot and sweating. The room was dark, but not quite pitch, he could see some. He realized he was not in his bed, he was on a couch, but he also knew it was not _his_ couch...whose then? Then he also realized he was on his side, hugging a pillow behind his head. Where the hell was he? He groaned softly as he pushed himself up to get a look at his surroundings. Outside he could hear the rain continuing to pour down. His eyes adjusted to the faint light put out by a digital clock and realized he was in Voight's living room. He looked over the armrest of the couch and felt his eyes double in size as he saw Hank asleep in the chair next to the couch. He had his arms folded against his chest and his head tucked by his shoulder and seemed to be dead to the world.

Matt tried to recall the events of the night and figure out how he got here. He still felt like he was about to burn up and reached down to find out what was on him, and realized it was a heavy flannel blanket draped over the lower half of his body. He looked to the clock and tried to get his eyes to focus to read the numbers but they all blurred together. He rubbed his eyes and tried again: 3:49. When the hell had he gone to sleep? He tried to think, he remembered coming in with the beers, he remembered he and Voight drinking all the beers, and remembered them talking, though only bits and pieces of the conversation came back to him, but when had he fallen asleep? And why hadn't Voight woken him up? And why, for that matter, was Voight asleep down here? Why didn't he go up to bed?

Then something else occurred to him. He felt the pillow behind his head, that hadn't been there when he sat down. Somehow he could picture Voight taking a blanket out of the closet and covering up a guest sleeping on his couch, but he couldn't quite picture Voight jerking the same guest's head up to stuff a pillow under it.

Something came into his head, something that he'd heard earlier that night? Something Voight had said?

_"If we would've had a second child that lived, I would've wanted it to be just like you."_

Was that it? You could take a child away from the parent, but not their parental instincts? Casey tiredly chewed his lip and wondered how many nights Voight brought Justin home and had him sleep off a bender here on the same couch. Probably the whole same process, put a pillow under his head, cover him up, shaking his head wondering what the hell he was going to do with the boy, maybe even stay right there in the chair watching him all night, just wondering what went wrong and how he was going to fix it.

Casey flopped his head back against the pillow and remembered another piece of dialogue from later in the evening. Since Casey had already opened the can of worms on the baby he and Gabby lost, he'd gone on to open up about something he'd long since wondered, but didn't dare breathe a word of to anyone.

_"My dad abused my mom, my mom killed my dad. I was there and I saw what he did to her day in and day out, so I know why she did it, but the fact remains she killed him. Those are the genes I come from. If Gabby and I had another baby, and it lived, what're the odds that it would grow up to be just like them?"_

Voight had surprised him by taking a somewhat philosophical approach in answering, _"The experts argue back and forth about genes, environment, chromosomes, it's not a science, Casey, it's all a guessing game. You can raise a kid to the best of your abilities, and still they can screw up. It's not DNA, it's just human nature. We do our best but I think at the end of the day sometimes it's just a matter of people are going to be whatever they're meant to be and there's really nothing that any of us can do to interfere with that. It's a very scary thought to have as a parent, knowing you're doing your best and it still doesn't make a difference, but sometimes it's the only explanation that makes any sense. That's also just a guessing game, no science behind it as far as I know, but it would explain how so many people can be raised by horrible people, and they all turn out so differently."_

_"And how sometimes the worst people come from the best parents,"_ Casey had added.

Voight had shrugged and replied, _"I've been a cop long enough to know how it's broken down, the abused abuse, it doesn't happen in all cases but it is the most common factor. But every once in a while, you get someone who had an ideal home environment, parents who raised them right, and they still turn out to be the worst people who ever lived."_

_"So you think there are no answers."_

_"Not in our lifetime,"_ Voight had responded, _"all we can do is what we do, and hope it's good enough."_

Casey watched Voight while he slept. The sergeant either fell asleep before getting a blanket for himself or simply hadn't thought of it. Matt grabbed the one covering him and quietly got up from the couch, crept across the floor, and lightly laid it over Hank, who didn't even move. Casey momentarily entertained the notion of ducking out and going back home, but the reality was he was too tired to do that, so he just laid back down on the couch, and went back to sleep.

* * *

Despite being asleep, Casey was aware of a sudden chill and felt his arms folded against his chest as tightly as he could get them. He was also aware he had a stiff neck and in the back of his subconscious realized it was because he'd tucked his chin in to his chest while he slept. Then out of nowhere, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard somebody calling his name. He felt his body jerk and heard a startled gasp and a few half grunts emanate from his throat before he actually got his eyes open to see what was going on.

"Calm down, it's just me," Voight told him, standing over the lieutenant with two mugs of coffee. He held one down within Casey's reach and told him, "Here, you look like you need this."

Casey groaned as he forced his eyes open and took the coffee. "Thanks," he managed to get out. "What time is it?"

"About six, you working today?" Voight asked.

Casey swallowed a mouthful of the hot black coffee and grumbled as he shook his head. "Shift starts tomorrow at 8."

"Lucky you," Voight replied. "Look, Matt, thanks for coming by last night, right now you don't know how much I appreciated the company."

"No problem," Casey said as he stood up. He added a bit uncertainly, "On behalf of 51, if you ever need anything, let us know."

"Thanks, but I think things are going to start getting easier," Voight told him.

Voight stepped back in the kitchen while Casey finished his coffee. He left the mug on the inn table and was putting on his jacket when Voight came back with a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee and told Matt, "Give this to your friend out there, he's probably half frozen by now."

Casey stopped straightening out the sleeves on his jacket and asked, "My _what_?"

* * *

Casey headed down the sidewalk and saw the blue Mustang parked at the curb behind his pickup. He walked over to the driver's side and saw the driver with his head down in a dead sleep. Casey rapped on the window and watched Severide jump up in his seat and open his eyes. He squinted a few times and finally saw who had woken him up and lowered his window.

"How'd it go?" he asked with a yawn.

"Fine," Casey held out the cup of coffee, "he sent this out for you."

Kelly took the coffee and downed half of it in one gulp.

"I appreciate you standing watch last night but it wasn't necessary," Casey told him.

"Yeah well, it's hard to put anything past him, mourning father or not. Figured it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye out just incase the old Voight would happen to resurface in a fit of grief," Severide responded.

"I hate to say it, but I think I understand his reasoning back then a little better now," Matt said.

Severide cocked his head and looked at him with a stunned expression on his face.

"See you next shift," Casey said as he rapped on the roof of the Mustang and stepped back.

"Yeah, later," Kelly said as he pulled away from the curb and took off.

Casey went over to his truck and got in. He started the engine and was about to pull out when he happened to look back towards the house and he saw Voight standing on the porch looking at him. Matt looked at him and while he couldn't define what it was, he felt that the two of them had reached some kind of understanding. He wished that there was something to actually say, but he knew there was nothing. He put the truck in gear and drove away.


End file.
